


The Fire in the Blood

by fyredancer



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M, Twincest, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyredancer/pseuds/fyredancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom and Bill's mother always warned them that they couldn't kiss it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for thwax for th_fanfic's Secret Santa 2009. Special requests/prompts were: "Very much want please - happy ending, genuine love. Would love if you're up for it - creature fic, vamp, something like that, spiky teeth and glowing eyes are FTW, some sex." Thanks to gajastar and ma_chelle for the beta! And huge thanks to cinematics for the wicked cool banner. I wasn't ever planning on writing creature fic for the Tokio Hotel fandom, but when it was something Thwax wanted, I had an idea that took hold of me and made me glad for the opportunity. :)

"Fucking motherfuckery shit sonuvabitch!" Bill's voice rang out loud and clear across the stage, seeing as he was speaking directly into a mic and it was live. Everyone who was scattered across the stage, and beyond the backstage curtain, froze in mid-sound check.

Tom looked up from where he was lifting his Gibson off the rack, one brow raised. That was the sound of Bill hurting himself. With a sigh, he released his grip on the neck of the guitar and went to go check on Bill's latest mishap, whatever it had been.

Taking care of Bill wasn't Tom's job; not even a self-appointed one. Bill had made it very clear a few years before, as they were starting to play more gigs than silly weddings and local clubs, that he thought he could take care of himself and expected Tom to act the same. Still, for Tom it was difficult to suppress something instinctive to him, and he crossed the stage as he puzzled over the small twinge in his own right hand that told him Bill had really gotten hurt.

The twins fed a lot of lies to interviewers – Tom did especially, because it was fun and he liked to see how much bullshit he could sling before someone told him to go get a shovel – but almost everything they said about their twin bond was the truth. _Almost._ There were things that no reporter needed to hear, after all.

Point being, Tom could literally feel Bill's pain, from a stub of his toe to a hangnail to something more serious. In turn, Bill could feel his; though his focus was more Tom's mental and emotional state, where Tom was more easily tuned in to Bill's physical wellbeing.

"What did you do?" Tom said, disguising his flicker of worry with overly exaggerated exasperation that Bill would see through in less than a heartbeat. He jogged across the stage, weaving past a few amps that had been set up and sent their cords sprawling every which way. "And turn your mic off if you're going to invent new swear words again."

"I was only..." Bill said vaguely, waving a hand to his mic stand. He lowered his mic and lifted his other hand, displaying a finger adorned with a cherry-bright drop of blood at the tip. "Fucking thing has a jagged clamp, or something; it cut the shit out of me."

Tom sighed and reached out to grasp the offered hand. "It really got you," he said with a frown. "Is it bad?" His own finger throbbed sympathy and he looked down at the glistening scarlet bead of blood that was beginning to seep down Bill's finger. He tried to remember the last time he'd seen Bill actually bleeding, and couldn't recall.

"I'll find someone to get a band aid," Bill said, waving his microphone and looking around for an assistant.

Tom frowned down at Bill's bleeding finger. One of his first clear memories was of Bill getting a scrape and Tom going in to kiss it, as he'd seen on some movie. It might have been a touching memory, if not for his mother's shriek as she'd caught them at it and moved so fast to smack him away from Bill's knee, his head had spun.

 _"Don't ever drink your brother's blood,_ their mother had told him then. _Don't ever lick it, don't swallow it, don't even put your lips on your brother's skin if he's bleeding. You can't kiss it better, Tomi; or you, Bibi."_

 _"Mama? Why not?"_ Tom had demanded, mystified. 

_"Because you can't!"_ their mother had snapped, then her expression had softened. _"Oh my darling boys, listen to mama, all right? You can't taste your brother's blood. It would change everything..."_ Uninterested in that answer, Tom and Bill had gone off to play after Simone had bandaged Bill's knee.

Remembering that again, Tom drew Bill's hand up to his face.

"Tom!" Bill objected, pulling a scandalized face. "You can't do that..."

"Mom's not here," Tom said, raising his brows at his brother as though daring him to tell him not to again. "I'll kiss it better, all right?"

Bill shifted from one foot to the other, a peculiar expression on his face as he watched Tom press a kiss to his bleeding finger. He took in a quick, sharp breath as Tom's tongue darted out to lap at the drop that had coursed along the side of his finger.

"Tomi," he said in a very small voice, low enough that none of the crew would be able to hear it as they continued to carry out the normal sound check activities.

Tom closed his eyes as the metallic tang of Bill's blood spread over his tongue. He didn't know what he'd expected it to taste like – he'd had very rare steak before, for instance, at fancy restaurants and so forth, and that was bloody, but this...this was different. He'd bitten his own tongue before, and tasted the painful bite of freshly-pierced lip, and it was nothing like this. Bill's blood had its own flavor, something unlike anything Tom had ever tasted but it was indescribably delicious, better than ice cream, his favorite mixed drink, or any other taste or scent he could call to mind. He sent his tongue pressing against Bill's skin a little harder, lapping up the remaining trickle of blood and pulling Bill's finger into his mouth.

"Oh," Bill murmured, sounding a little troubled and – Tom felt it – more than a little turned on.

Hastily Tom disengaged his mouth from Bill's finger. What the hell had he just been doing? Sucking on his brother's finger like it was a lollipop, right in front of crew and their bandmates and even some management off to one side of the stage. He shifted, too, grateful for his fashion sense that allowed for baggy clothes that would disguise any inconvenient boners caused by sexy girls and his occasionally-sexier brother. He was uneasy over the fact that _Bill_ had provoked it, this time. It had been a while.

"I gotta...finish the sound check," Tom mumbled, licking his lip and still tasting the unbelievably fresh, ambrosial hit of Bill's blood. "You okay?"

Bill lowered his head and regarded Tom through his eyelashes. " _You_ okay?" he returned, sounding perturbed. He looked down at his finger, at the thin red-rimmed line of the cut that remained, then gave Tom a disquieted smile.

"Yeah, just..." Tom backed up a step then turned away, making a beeline for his guitar and the shield that it would provide for his aching groin. What the fuck had just happened?

After sound check he thought briefly of checking up on Bill's finger, but his brother gave him a cool look from across the room and threw himself into conversation with Georg, and Tom busied himself with finding a Coke. He didn't want things to get weird again.

He opened his Coke and sipped at it, then stared at the bottle. "This tastes like shit," he said aloud, forehead wrinkling as he frowned in confusion. Was it flat? No way, it had fizzed a little with the hiss of escaping carbonation as he opened it. There was something off about the flavor.

Bill and Georg looked up from their conversation.

"Stop drinking it, then," Georg said good-naturedly.

Tom made a face after his second swig and pushed the bottle away from him. "Seriously, it's...gross. Did someone get us a bad batch of Coke?"

Georg laughed at that, harder than was strictly necessary, but Bill frowned too. "Give me a taste?"

Tom passed it over with a grimace. Coke was supposed to be sweet; this had only tasted bitter.

Bill took a little sip and quirked a brow at Tom. "It's fine; what are you talking about?"

Tom shrugged when Bill offered him the bottle. "Keep it."

They were scheduled to do a brief meet and greet backstage with fans that had earned VIP passes before the show, and Tom malingered in the back. He was a little worried over the inexplicable wood he'd gotten earlier after sucking on Bill's finger. If there were any hot girls wanting to hang around his neck this evening, he might be in trouble. He grabbed a marker when Jost shoved one in his hand and hung behind the others, playing things as cool as possible. From the corner of his eye, he saw the band aid on Bill's index finger and frowned over the reminder. 

When he licked into the corners of his mouth, he could still taste it.

They had time blocked before the show to eat, but Tom took one sniff of the sandwich he was offered and tossed it away in disgust. It smelled off, spoiled.

Georg snatched it up and smelled it, then shook his head at Tom. "You feeling all right? It's fine." He took a big bite and Tom could barely contain a retch.

"If you want to eat rancid meat, be my guest..." Tom said dubiously.

"Want to try mine?" Bill offered, waving his sandwich in front of Tom's nose.

Tom had to clap his hands over his mouth and run for the bathroom.

The show that night passed in a haze for Tom, as though he were clouded by alcohol though he hadn't gotten a single drop. They wouldn't drink until later, when they went out and hit a club before stumbling into their rooms for those few hours of sleep before a round of interviews. He kept his head down over his guitar and played by rote, his fingers striking the chords he knew he could play in his sleep – he had. Normally Tom was energized by live performances, the thrill rising up from the crowd to course over his skin, but tonight it was as though all his vigor was draining straight into the ground. He couldn't even bounce along with Georg and Bill to the opening riff of Ich Bin Nich' Ich the way they sometimes did, and felt the puzzled look Bill threw his way.

After the show he tossed his towel into the crowd, smirking at the screams that rose up to new, shrieking crescendos near the stage, and turned on his heel before he could see the riot he'd caused nearby. Bill had only pranced near him once for that show, during Jung und Nicht Mehr Jugendfrei, and Tom had kept his eyes down and his fingers working the strings of his guitar. Bill had been so close that Tom could smell sweat and hairspray, and something new that he didn't think he'd ever quite noticed before but his nose recognized it as indelibly Bill. Sweeter than perfume, more earthy than musk.

He plopped himself down on the green room couch next to Bill and fanned at his face, lifting the heavy pile of his dreadlocks away from his sweaty neck. "How's your finger?" he asked, looking across the room. Gustav was bouncing on the balls of his feet, clearly still energized, and Georg had his cell phone open and he was fiddling with the keypad with both thumbs. None of his bandmates looked as wrecked as Tom felt.

"Fine," Bill said absently, lifting one hand to look at his nails.

"Let me see," Tom insisted.

Bill's eyes flashed up at him. "It's fine, Tomi. You'd know if it wasn't, right?"

Tom frowned over that. In fact, he hadn't sensed any kind of pain from Bill all evening, small or no. Instead of asking again, he reached out and grabbed his twin's hand, ignoring Bill's small annoyed protests and peeling the band aid back.

"See," Bill said, pulling his hand from Tom's. "Fine."

Tom tried to make sense of what he'd seen. There had only been the faintest of pink lines, healed skin – not even scabbed over. How was that possible? He'd seen the cut on Bill's finger earlier, when he had pulled away.

"I'm more concerned about you; you're not looking so good," Bill continued, reaching his hand up and touching it to Tom's forehead. "You're hot, and clammy."

Tom wrinkled his nose. "Still sexier than all three of you," he said, ignoring the churning sensation in his stomach that agreed with Bill's assessment that all was not well. If he'd actually had a bite of any sandwiches earlier, he might have suspected food poisoning. The last thing he'd had was a couple of sips of Coke, and he'd thrown that up after getting a whiff of Bill's sandwich.

He grabbed a bag of chips leftover from the catering earlier, and brought one to his lips. Salty and bland, it should have been inoffensive. As he chewed, the sensation of it in his mouth became increasingly repulsive as it turned into a pulpy mass. It tasted foul, like a mix of dirt and bitter chemicals. He spat it out into the bag and chucked the whole thing for the waste bin, making a fist of triumph when he landed a goal.

"Ready to go clubbing?" Georg said, hiking a brow at the two of them and smirking when Saki appeared at the door, giving them the all clear.

"Ugh," Tom responded, wiping at his forehead and finding the beanie below his cap soaked with sweat. "I think I'm gonna call it a night, actually."

Bill peered at his face. "Want me to go back to the hotel with you?" he offered.

Tom shook his head, tagging after their bandmates as they went down the hall, which was jam-packed with crew members tearing things down. "Nah," he said. "I'm sure it's just a bug; you shouldn't stay in with me if I'm sick, you know?"

"If you're sure," Bill said, seeming dubious.

Tom gave him a firm nod. It was the one thing he could concentrate on – not putting Bill at risk. He crowded in next to his twin in the van and tried not to sniff the mouth-watering aroma that seemed to be coming off Bill's neck. It was a relief when they pulled up to a stop at the curb and someone opened a door for Tom.

"Feel better," Bill urged, giving him an anxious little wave, his eyes huge and clearly uneasy that Tom was going elsewhere in less than the best of health without him.

"Yeah," Tom said unenthusiastically, slouching as he followed security into the hotel. His stomach was cramping, knotting, and his skin was cold and tight. Any thought of an erection was long gone, and Tom was thinking of climbing into a hot shower for the prospect of warming up. All he wanted to do now was huddle under his blankets.

"You okay?" Tobi asked him, standing stolidly beside him as Tom fumbled through his pockets for his room key.

Tom grimaced up at him. He probably did look like shit, if even their security was asking after his health. Tobi might even be scared that a Kaulitz was looking to keel over on his watch. "Hoping to be, in the morning," he croaked. God, even his voice was going, though his throat didn't seem to be sore at all.

He stripped off his clothes, realizing in the process that he was sweating for real, and managed to climb under his blankets before he passed out cold.

Tom woke at some distant point in the night, the lights in his room still glowing because he hadn't bothered to douse them. He was stifling hot, now, but too torpid to kick any blankets off his overheated body.

He was thirsty, so ravenously thirsty that he thought he could die of it, his throat parched and his mouth dry as sand in the desert. Tom half-crawled, half-fell out of the sweaty nest of sheets that he had pulled around himself and dragged himself to the bathroom. He was flushed, the skin of his face and chest a patchy, mottled red, and sweating profusely enough that beads of sweat slid down his spine as he bent over the sink. As he splashed cold water over his face, he half-expected it to sizzle and evaporate, he was that uncomfortably hot.

He began to drink water directly from the tap and the coolness was relief in his mouth, but the first swallow hit him in an odd way. He choked on it, sputtered, and spat the clear mouthful into the sink, wiping at his lips in shock. How could water taste bad? It had been out of the sink, though.

After daubing at his sweaty face with a towel, he stumbled for the mini-bar and got a bottled water. A gulp later, he was spraying water over the hotel curtains, choking again and trying to figure out how _bottled water_ could be tainted. He was so thirsty that he thought he could die; so thirsty, he thought he should be able to force down even bad-tasting water because it was liquid and wet, but his body rejected it.

Tom tried another bottle of water, and another. He couldn't keep a single mouthful down. Finally, sweating and sick to his stomach, he crawled back into his cocoon of blankets, dragged the top sheet over his head, and curled up with an idly panicked thought for whether he would wake up in the morning. Bill would freak out, the morbid knowledge drifted through Tom's fading consciousness, then he was out in an even deeper state of swoon than before.

 _It's in the blood_ , a voice whispered inside of him, part of his own self recognizing the impetus behind what had happened. He would forget, in the morning.

* * *

Something was buzzing ridiculously loud, worse than a swarm of bees in his ear, and Tom batted uselessly at the air in a vain attempt to silence whatever was disturbing his rest. He pawed at thick blanket that was tickling his cheek, and groaned as he cracked open reluctantly crusty eyes. It was dark in his room but the stripes of grey along the floor let him know it was light outside. The buzzing started up again, louder without the muffling blanket.

"God, I'm not even hungover," Tom complained aloud, reaching for the cell phone that he'd left on the night stand. He didn't usually have sensitivity to light or sound unless he'd drunk way too much the night before – rather an unfortunate recurrence in his life, lately – but this morning his phone sounded about three times as loud as normal.

Flipping the phone open, Tom found a text from Jost reminding him that they had interviews and a photo shoot, and would have to leave in an hour.

He groaned and rolled out of bed. Despite the fever the night before, Tom was feeling amazingly good now. He was actually starving, rather than nauseated, and his thirst was about twice what it had been when he'd woken in the middle of the night. That had been plenty awful to be going on with, so he tried one of the bottled waters that he had thrown back into the mini-bar.

This morning it tasted cool and refreshing, and he gulped it down before his body could even contemplate rejecting it. Relieved, Tom chugged a second bottle of water, then set about readying himself to face the day.

He chalked up the night before to some kind of weird stomach flu, and set out for breakfast. The mirror told him his cheeks were still flushed and he was sleepy-eyed as though he'd been laid the night before, but Tom felt more or less capable of facing the packed-full day that had been scheduled. All that he'd be expected for was a bit of comic relief and perhaps stealing the mic from Bill once or twice; maybe a brag on groupies, if he could manage it.

"You look wrecked," Georg commented, as Tom seated himself at the breakfast table, pulling sunglasses out of a pocket to shield himself from even the most indirect rays. The light was hitting him like a hammer that morning. "Did you sneak out on your own last night, after we went out?"

"Shit, no," Tom returned. "I was huddled in bed sick to my stomach all night; I couldn't even keep water down." He felt up his own forehead with the back of his wrist, but couldn't tell if he still felt alarmingly warm or not.

Georg scooted his chair away, giving Tom a wary look. "You're sick, then?"

"Must have been," Tom said with a shrug. Usually Bill was the one getting sick; Tom couldn't remember the last time he'd caught so much as a case of the sniffles. He was able to eat now, at least, and if everything tasted a little off he could ignore it, too grateful that he was able to wolf the food down at all.

Gustav joined them after not too much longer, picking at the spread on the table and heaping his plate. Bill was last as usual, tipping himself into the chair beside Tom and reaching for the coffee with sleepy eyes.

"Tom, are you better?" he mumbled, bringing the mug to his face before even glancing Tom's way.

Tom shrugged and resisted the urge to hide his face in folded arms on the tabletop. If he napped right at the breakfast table, their handlers might try to pump him full of Vitamin C or something equally vile.

"Did you have a girl in your room last night?" Now Bill's voice was sharp, not exactly disapproving but skirting the fine edge. If anyone were to accuse him of being jealous, though – even Tom – heaven help them.

"I was sick as a dog, Bill; don't be stupid," Tom said without thinking, then winced and awaited the explosion.

Instead of flaring up at him, Bill reached out and set the back of his hand against Tom's forehead, then slid down to the flushed skin of his cheek. "God, you're burning up, Tom!" he said, shocked. He jerked his hand back and hitched his chair away, as though proximity alone would transmit the illness.

It was a good thing he'd pulled away so quickly, was all Tom could think, as he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent that lingered so near his face. Bill's wrist had been in front of his face and he'd been consumed by the urge to grab it and press it to his mouth so suddenly, so sharply, that Tom had seen himself doing it and was still dazed over the urge.

"Are you wearing some kind of new cologne?" Tom mumbled. His mouth was still watering and he felt thick-headed, like he had wool packed in his ears or something.

"What? Don't be...Tom, no, but that's hardly the point. You've got a fever, you're probably sick..."

"I feel fine," Tom lied. He was better than last night, for sure, but he was starting to realize something was still wrong, and it was more than the spiking body temperature that he hadn't even noticed.

"Well, you don't look fine!" Bill said sharply. "You should probably stay in bed today, Tom."

Hence the lie. Anyone who thought that Bill was hyper hadn't seen Tom after a few hours of enforced confinement. He'd go beyond stir-crazy; he would probably start peeling the awful wallpaper off the walls. "Seriously, I'll be fine...okay, I wasn't feeling well last night, but I'm loads better now. See? I've eaten." He pushed his plate back and forth over the tablecloth; it was still partially loaded with eggs and sausage.

Bill leveled a dubious stare on him. "Tom..."

"It's true, he's been eating," Georg added unexpectedly. "Come on, Bill. He's a big boy. If he says he's not sick..."

Bill folded his arms and dropped back into his chair. "That's not it," he grumped. "If something got _Tom_ sick, I'm next, so I want to take all the proper precautions."

Tom bent a sarcastic look on his twin. "Remind me to sneeze on you if I feel the urge," he said direly.

Bill squeaked and scooted his chair even further. "You wouldn't!" But Bill knew that Tom would, so he covered his face with his hands and pestered Gustav until he would swap seats, putting him across the table from Tom.

That day passed in a fog for Tom, no better than the fever-bright dreams that had plagued his night along with heat paralyzing his limbs and the stab of continual thirst. The dreams had slipped his grasp the moment he'd awoken to that loud, annoying buzz and opened his eyes on the world again. Bill used Georg as a buffer between them during the day's slate of interviews, and Tom was too out of it to care, focusing the rest of his waning energies on staying awake and tracking conversation enough to smirk on cue.

It was a good thing his signature was already a sprawl of illegibility, he mused as he whipped out a few on their way out of the hotel at last.

"I'm concerned," Jost said, taking Tom by the arm and holding him back after they boarded the tour bus.

Tom groaned and dropped his caps bag onto the nearest surface. "Like I already told Bill, I'm fine..."

"Is it drugs?" Jost asked directly.

Tom gave him an irritated snort. "Do I look stupid?" he asked their manager, completing the thought in his head, 'enough to smoke or pop anything on an interview day with our manager hovering at our shoulders?'

"You don't look fine," Jost said, not quite answering Tom's question.

"I'm a little under the weather," Tom admitted. "The guys think I'm getting sick, but seriously, I'm getting better." He wasn't sure of that, himself, but his appetite had certainly returned with a vengeance. An assistant had brought them sandwiches as they were bustled from one appointment to the next, and Tom had eaten two and finished Bill's. Things still didn't taste quite the same, but that could be a side effect of whatever bug was working its way through his system, maybe.

He was still so damned thirsty, though, and it didn't seem there was any amount of water that could quench it. He'd made so many trips to the bathroom that Gustav had asked if he had a urinary tract infection. And hadn't _that_ made Bill look at him as though he'd grown a second head.

"All right, well, take these with some water," Jost told him, shoving a small pill bottle into his hand.

Tom waited until he was gone, inspected the label, and tossed it in the general direction of the couch so hard that it bounced off and rolled under the seats on the opposite side of the bus, in the minuscule kitchenette area. "Fucking Vitamin C..."


	2. Chapter Two

Georg sneaked out of the lower bunk quietly, so quietly, tugging the curtain back aside and checking the narrow aisle twice before he crept toward the front of the bus. Not waking the twins was foremost on his mind, not so much for the time of night that it was but because of whose bunk he was leaving at that late hour. He and Gustav didn't do anything more on the tour bus than grab a quick cuddle, because Georg couldn't help but be noisy when they did anything more. It wasn't precisely consideration, though Georg pitched it that way. Their friends were open-minded, but Georg wasn't ready to come forward – it would strain their dynamic, he reasoned aloud to Gustav; they were already cramped together in such a confined space, and if the twins knew it would be weird.

It was a lot of tissue paper rationalization, Georg knew, but Gustav accepted it without a word of protest. And so they continued in secret, taking their chances when they were booked into hotels and not sleeping on the tour bus. Then there were nights like this, when Georg missed the solid strength of Gustav's body against his, only touching, nothing more, and his friend let him climb into the bunk beside him, again without a word.

The sway of the bus barely fazed Georg as he made his way toward the kitchenette with his mind on one thing: he'd seen a bottle of juice in the little fridge, and he wanted to wet his lips on that, then collapse into a well-deserved sleep.

Something glittered out of the darkness at him, two luminous, moon-bright orbs swiveling his way and flashing shades of silver and green. Georg swore and tripped over the couch, palming something warm and yielding, and yelped as he jerked back, falling on his ass in the aisle.

"Georg?" Tom's voice came from the depths of the pitch black, in the direction of the couch.

"Fuck, man, flip on a light," Georg grumbled, feeling out blindly for the nearest cabinet, which turned out to be very close to his head. He reached up for a corner and hauled himself to his feet, searching for the switch that would turn on the dim light over the sink. "You'll kill your eyes, sitting in the dark here like that." A weird prickle rose the hairs at his nape; for a moment he thought he'd been seeing a cat or some other wild animal in their bus, with those incandescent eyes flashing at him through the darkness.

The light beside the couch flickered on and Georg found himself looking at Tom, who was tucked up on one end of the couch and flinching away from that faint light. He was swaddled in a blanket that had been pulled off his bunk and looked as wrecked as he had when he'd stumbled down to breakfast that morning.

"I could see just fine," Tom mumbled, tugging his blanket up higher. He covered his face as though to shield his eyes.

"What are you doing sitting alone out here, when you've got a perfectly good bunk?" Georg wanted to know, torn between amusement and concern. If Bill had kicked Tom out of the bunks area because he was still worried about getting sick, they were going to have to have a talk. One didn't treat one's own brother that way, especially if he _was_ sick and needed good rest to have a prompt recovery.

"It's closer to the fridge," Tom explained, lowering the blanket to blink over at Georg. "I'm fucking starving. I have to get up, like, every fifteen minutes to eat something."

"God, do you have a parasite, or something?" Georg said with a laugh. "That's really weird, Tom."

"Think I don't know?" Tom said, a desperate edge to his voice.

"You should get checked out, or something," Georg said uneasily, but he knew as well as Tom did that there was no time to stop when they were on tour, and their management would, at most, have some hotel first aid station look Tom over in order to pronounce him fit to perform. Unless Tom were falling over coughing up blood, or broke a leg in such a manner as to protrude through the skin, it was very unlikely he'd take Georg up on the advice.

"I'm fine," Tom insisted, as expected. "It was just a bug, or something, and now I'm really hungry. That's all."

'You don't look fine,' Georg thought, but kept it to himself. What else could they do? Besides, if there truly was something wrong with Tom, Bill would be more concerned than anyone else, and he'd override Tom's attempts at bravado. "Okay, well, take it easy. Let me know if you need anything?"

"Just another sandwich," Tom muttered.

Georg almost laughed. The other night, Tom had been proclaiming the sandwiches smelt bad. He checked in the mini-fridge, and was surprised to see that it had been raided. Even the orange juice that he'd come to the kitchenette for in the first place was gone, with not even a half-drained bottle to show that it had ever been there to begin with.

"There's carrots," Georg said. "I think those are Silke's, or someone's." He'd never seen any of his bandmates eat raw carrots.

Tom groaned. "Give them over."

Georg raised a brow. "Seriously, man?" If Tom was willing to have a go at carrots, he had to be starving. Yet Georg couldn't think offhand of any condition that made a person insanely hungry. "Are you pregnant?"

Tom's bark of laughter was loud enough that Georg looked over his shoulder reflexively at the bunks area. It was always a bad idea to wake Bill in the middle of the night, but when they were on the bus, he got especially bitchy. It took their singer an extra long time to fall asleep with all the motion and small noises associated with tour bus living.

"Don't be an idiot. Pass over the carrots and get back to bed, yeah?"

Georg pulled the carrots out and tossed them at Tom. "You drank my juice, you bastard."

"Label it next time," was Tom's unsympathetic response. 

"You should go to bed," Georg advised. "There's nothing left in the fridge to eat, anyhow. You want something else, you'll have to call for a stop and I think Jost was bitching that we're behind schedule, so..."

"Shove off," Tom said, waving the bag of carrots at him and tugging the blanket up toward his face again. "I'm fine where I am."

Georg shook his head and retreated. As he turned to make his way to the back of the bus, he thought he heard Tom muttering behind him, "staying up here because I shouldn't be too close to him anyhow...he smells fucking good enough to eat." Georg widened his eyes, wondering over that ambiguous pronoun. He'd been intending to slip into his bunk alone, and snatch whatever sleep the shredded remains of early morning had left for him.

Instead, he tugged aside Gustav's curtain and climbed in without even asking. Gustav exhaled a sigh and pressed himself closer to the window, making room for Georg to spoon behind him.

"What's going on?" The soft murmur was low enough to miss, if Georg weren't ducked in close over his friend's neck.

"Nothing," Georg whispered back, hoping to hell it was true. The cringe-inducing sight of those silvery green eyes gleaming at him out of the darkness returned to him every time he shut his eyes. No one's eyes looked like that, not if they were human. But _Tom_ was... He shook his head, fanning hair out over the side of Gustav's neck, and Gustav shifted against him, not exactly squirming away but blowing tickling strands away from his mouth. "Just...have you noticed anything weird about Tom?"

Gustav snorted softly. "When isn't something weird about Tom?"

Georg frowned, then it cleared. He had to have imagined it. Maybe some kind of light had made its way through a chink in the blinds and it shone at the right angle off Tom's eyes to make them glint like that, somehow.

"Yeah, you're right," Georg said, laying his head on the pillow.

"I'm going to kick you out early in the morning," Gustav warned him.

"As always," Georg whispered. He set his lips to the back of Gustav's neck, not quite a kiss but enough to let him know he was there. "Get back to sleep."

Gustav's breathing slipped into a steady pattern once more without any sort of great delay. Georg, on the other hand, stared at the faint ebb and flow of the light that painted over the slim chink between the window cover and the side of the window frame, and listened to his friend's heartbeats as he tried to court elusive sleep. The light that limned the window cover was grey with dawn before he managed it.

* * *

By the time they were set up and rocking the next concert, Tom was on fire again, playing his way through a fucking fabulous concert with the energy rolling through him. He threw it right back, lit up within as he poured his frenzy into the notes that burned right off the strings from his fingers and thrummed out through the crowd, through the pulse in his earbones, through his twin's earpiece as Bill danced his way back and forth across the stage. He was also erect against his guitar through the whole damned thing, which made Leb' die Sekunde fucking awkward, but he managed with a quick adjust against the waistband of his boxers and carried on.

After a concert like that, there was no question of going out, fever or no.

He was hot but didn't feel sick; hungry but didn't feel starved; thirsty and ready for some goddamned drinks. Bill decided to stay in, which killed his post-concert glow somewhat – "come out with us, just for a little bit" "nah, just don't feel like it tonight" – then Tom was on his way with Gustav and Georg, and they were seated in a VIP area with the drinks coming back and forth like there'd be no hangovers tomorrow. Tom hit the mixed drinks, then he hit the shots.

Then he hit the tequila and asked them to keep it coming, because at the point where he'd normally be several drinks gone and buzzing hard enough to light up a Christmas tree, that night he had nothing.

A hot blonde was perched on the low-backed booth beside him and Tom had his hand on her knee, but he wasn't feeling it. In addition to a complete and dismal lack of alcohol warming his blood, there was something – her perfume, the fried-chemical scent of her thick curls, maybe even the alcolated fumes coming off her pores – that turned Tom's stomach. Eventually he pushed past her and made his way to the bathroom.

He wasn't drunk; he wasn't even weaving on his feet, not in the slightest. But he sure as hell had to pee. Those drinks were going through him faster than water and his thirst was raging hard enough he thought his mouth was going to cave in.

Tom did his business, zipped his fly, and splashed his face at the mirror for a moment, wondering why the hell he was still at the club when he wasn't drunk and he wouldn't take money to bring the blonde chick back to his hotel for the night. Someone had said her name at some point, he was sure, but he hadn't been paying attention, too busy slamming shots in a desperate attempt to get the liquor to do its usual.

He leaned forward and checked his reflection out, concerned by a red mark on his upper lip. At a distance, it looked like a spot was breaking out, but no. He frowned at the mirror and wiped water droplets from his skin. His gums were itching, and what the hell was up with that?

Curious, he poked under his upper lip with his tongue, feeling around to see if it was a canker sore. Something pricked his tongue and he swore.

"The fuck...?" He didn't remember cutting his lip on glass or anything; there was no reason for anything sharp to be stuck up in his mouth. Now, if he had a tongue stud like Bill...

Tom gripped the sink as a shiver swept him for no reason he could discern. When he lifted his eyes to the mirror again, he bared his upper lip and checked out his gums. Nothing, so he leaned in again and pried his lip up with forefinger and thumb.

There was a reddened welt-like mark over his incisor. It looked like a canker sore, but not quite. And what had pricked against his tongue, anyhow? Fascinated as much as he was concerned, Tom leaned closer to the mirror and prodded beside the red sore with his other index finger.

A silver of whiteness began to emerge, bone-white and sharp.

Tom inhaled sharply through his nose and drew back. "What the fuck," he repeated. He was disturbed, but now he had to know. There was something in his mouth, and maybe he was going to hyperventilate a bit and if it was something living he was going to demand Jost get him in to see a dentist, or a doctor, or someone that could knock him unconscious and just take care of it. He leaned forward anyhow and prodded the red mark again.

A long, curving tooth popped out of the red welt in his gums. Tom stared at it long enough to get a pretty damned good look at it. It was definitely a tooth, protruding from the gums above his incisor. It was long and very sharp and looked an awful lot like a _fang_.

Tom pulled his hands away from his mouth hastily. "God," he uttered, gripping the sink in both hands and looking down at the drain, instead of his suddenly horrifying face.

The door banged open like a gunshot and Tom jumped, wishing that he was drunk, wishing he could _get_ drunk, or felt even the faintest bit drug-addled so that he'd have some sort of explanation for this.

"You all right in here? Tom?" Georg called out, sounding about as drunk as Tom wanted to be, and in far better spirits. "You were sick jus' yesterday, so..."

"I'm fine," Tom said, and repeated it to himself in the mirror, willing it to be true. "I'm fine. Georg? I think I'm gonna go. You know, back to the hotel."

"No way!" Georg said, sounding mildly horrified. "If you don't stay, Kadja will leave, and she said she had some friends coming..."

"You can have Kadja," Tom said, reaching up to scrub at his face then thinking better of it. He was suddenly horrified over a vision of that fang, and a matching one on the other side, poking through his lip to stab into his palms. "I...I've gotta get back to the hotel, I think I need some sleep." That was it, Tom told himself. It was sleep deprivation.

Georg stayed at the bathroom door a moment longer, then said, "You sure?"

"Yeah," Tom assured him, and hurriedly towel-dried his hands.

Security ushered him out of the club and back to the hotel. There was a little group camped out in front where they dropped him off, the diehards willing to lose sleep for a look, the desperate hope of an autograph, maybe some of them even hoping to slip him numbers as they leaned over to give him a flash of their tits if they were Tom fans. It was late – rather, really early – so Saki told him to keep his head down and avoid making eye contact, and stayed glued at his side until they were inside.

He didn't share a room with Bill anymore, but they usually ended up in adjoining rooms more often than not. One of Bill's first acts as he settled in was always to unlatch the door on his side, so that if Tom wanted, he could come over for a chat or a late night movie or to share a last drink before they both crashed. Tom typically kept his side unlatched too, unless he was 'entertaining' that night.

After stripping down to his boxers and letting his dreads loose, downing another two bottles of water in a futile attempt to make his mouth any less parched, and finishing his other bedtime activities, Tom found himself in front of the connecting door that would let him in to his twin's room.

He hesitated, grappling with himself. He didn't want to bother Bill.

He wanted to crawl in with Bill, suddenly and more fiercely than any point in time since they'd been signed. Tom was freaked out, still trying to shake the sight of that sharp tooth poking out of his upper gum where nothing had any right to emerge, and he needed something normal, stable. He needed Bill, and balls if it was admitting to weakness.

He turned the handle and opened the door, then the other on Bill's side.

Sharp blue light greeted Tom as he tiptoed into his brother's hotel room. Tom's lips curved in a smile. Bill had fallen asleep watching TV, as usual. Sometimes he came in at night to click his twin's TV off and tuck the duvet over Bill's skinny body. He moved further into the room and realized he could see everything sharp and clear as daylight, the light from the TV providing him with enough illumination. Tom turned off the TV, tossed aside the remote, and crawled into bed behind his brother, who was curled up on his side beneath the covers.

"Mm...Tom?" Bill mumbled, rousing briefly as Tom spooned up behind him.

"Yeah," Tom murmured back, beginning to panic a bit as he nosed at Bill's warm nape and his mouth began to water. Bill was amazing, not like the girl at the club, who'd smelled a little rancid now that he really thought about it. Bill smelled warm and delicious, like home and sweets and himself, something beneath the faint scent of expensive cosmetics and hair product, woodsy and vanilla.

"Nn...no, Tom," Bill protested, beginning to push Tom's arm off him, one leg rubbing back against Tom's as he realized Tom was pressing against him chest to back, groin to butt. "We said we wouldn't anymore."

Tom ignored him and nuzzled closer, tracing over the tantalizing line of a vein in Bill's neck with his tongue. "Bill," he murmured, then found the warm spot, the sweetest spot, and bit down.

It was instinct, it was deeper than need, stronger than compulsion. Tom pushed against him, an arm around Bill's waist keeping his twin taut against him as Bill went rigid. As Tom's eyes widened, the slice of those extended fangs did their job and a pulse of blood hit his tongue. He lapped at it, fastened his mouth to Bill's neck and sucked, and his eyes fogged shut at the sheer pleasure lancing through him at the taste of it.

The blood coursed over his tongue and filled his mouth with a taste unlike anything else. It was everything he'd tasted the other day and so much _more_ ; the difference was night and day, honey and mead. Tom was intoxicated at last. He swallowed and it quenched him. He closed his mouth over the trickle of blood and nursed at it, then his eyes fluttered open as Bill struggled in his arms.

Fuck, what was he doing? Besides licking _blood_ off his little brother's neck, he was grinding a sudden hard-on into his backside. He began to pull away, his lips unfastening reluctantly, and then it happened.

Bill moaned, shivering in his arms. It was not a pained noise. "Tomi..."

A frisson went straight through Tom at the sound. Wide-eyed, he bent back to Bill's neck to lick at the dwindling trail of warm liquid. He groaned once, still overwhelmed by the flavor, the sheer taste of warmth and vitality in his mouth, swallowing and licking around his teeth to chase the remnants and nosing against Bill's neck for the rest. This was what he wanted; this was all he wanted. Not only this amazing...fucking amazing flavor, but everything. Bill in his arms, this...being in Bill's bed, between Bill's thighs, everything.

Being _with_ Bill, in every way.

With a wanton, desperate little noise that would have embarrassed him at any other time, Tom fastened his lips around the little wound he'd created, rolling his tongue over it for another mouthful, and found it gone. He ran his tongue all over that pulse-throbbing skin, but there wasn't a mark, not a single blemish. He nosed over it again, confused. He'd cut that skin with his teeth only moments before; where had the wound gone?

"Tom," Bill said, disengaging and heaving himself up, shifting around in bed to face him.

Tom widened his eyes and begin to pull away. "Shit, _shit_ ," he cursed under his breath, wiping at his mouth, finding only spit when he frantically examined his hand in the dark. It was light enough to him, with only the faint illumination that came in from the chink of light beneath the hotel room door. "I'm sorry...Bill, I didn't mean..."

"Forget that," Bill said, dismissing the fact that Tom had just _sucked blood from his neck_ with a cavalier wave of his hand. "I...I felt you, Tomi. Really felt you, for the first time in years. Why...why didn't you tell me..."

Tom shifted uncomfortably beneath the duvet. Bill was still pressed against him, and he wanted to move away because his hard-on was poking his twin's hip, and yeah, they had messed around in their early teens, but... "You wanted to stop," he pointed out. "You said we shouldn't, anymore."

Bill sighed and reached up to rake a hand through his black hair, tugging at the ever-growing ends. It was shoulder-length now, and still growing. "That was because I thought it would be better that way," he said softly. "You wanted to, I mean, with girls...fuck that. We got signed. I thought we shouldn't, you know, because of everything. Because of no privacy. Because of our careers. Because _you_ didn't want to..."

Tom shook his head slowly, ever so slowly. 'Because we shouldn't' had been a pretty damned good reason, and so he hadn't argued. But he'd never stopped wanting to. Even now, especially when he shouldn't. "I'll always do what you want me to, Bill; you know that. When it comes down to it. And _you_ said we should stop, that we shouldn't--"

"Kiss me," Bill said, cutting him off, his voice shaking.

Tom didn't even stop to think about it, he just leaned in and _did_.

Their mouths meshed clumsily, hastily. It had been so long since he'd kissed Bill that he'd forgotten how his lips were firm but soft, almost like a girl's but better, forceful. Bill pressed back against him and shoved his mouth into Tom's with a small moan that opened his lips to Tom. Never one to pass up opportunity, Tom pressed his tongue inside, licking past the yielding line of heat of his lower lip and stroking over Bill's tongue. It trembled against his for a half-second, then Bill was moving, rolling their bodies together and locking an arm over his waist, pressing his tongue hard against Tom's.

"Want this," Bill spoke directly into his mouth. "Want you."

Tom groaned and the sound traveled between them; went right to his dick. It was exactly what he never thought he'd hear from Bill; what he wouldn't let himself want since they'd stopped having it. He kissed hard against Bill's mouth, pressing against him open-mouthed but only sharing their lips for the moment, kissing him soft and slow and trying to let him know with those kisses what Bill meant to him. He'd loved Bill since forever, probably way more than a brother was ever supposed to, but it was love and how could that be wrong?

Bill kissed him back passionately. He fit their lips together, taking his cue from Tom and leaving it open-mouthed but no tongues, not yet. They focused on only this much, the two of them together and their mouths working softly, a little bit wet and very hot. They made out and trailed off into soft and loving kisses, resting their heads on a single pillow before Bill snuggled even closer, pressing a kiss to his chin then ducking to lick Tom's collarbone. Tom closed his eyes and stroked a hand over Bill's warm, naked back. This was all he'd ever wanted out of life; playing guitar, and Bill. With one thing denied to him, he'd tried to fill the aching gap with everything else, anything – drinks, party drugs, girls.

"If we do this, I'm not sharing you with any girls," Bill said, small and tucked against his chest, one hand feathering over Tom's hip. Whether he read the thought from Tom or was securing his claim, it didn't matter. The answer was the same, either way.

Tom's hand stilled in the act of reaching below the waistband of Bill's boxers. The pads of his fingers were trapped against fine silky black hairs. "You thought I'd do that?" he asked, shocked. "This is...no. If we, I mean, you and me...you're it for me, Bill."

Apparently Bill 'felt' him just fine then, too, because he produced a happy little noise that transmitted from his lips to Tom's throat, and clear through Tom's belly to his cock. Tom grunted, pushing against Bill's thigh.

"Good," Bill declared, and dropped a kiss into the dip between Tom's collarbones. He repositioned himself, shifting until he brought their bodies and faces back into alignment. "Tomi..." His eyes fluttered shut.

Tom had to pause to wonder over the moment, even a split second, to gloat over how lucky he was that he was here, now; that Bill wanted him, and perhaps had never stopped wanting this. Then sheer desire took over and he pressed up against Bill, gluing their mouths together in a kiss more sloppy than skilled, too fucking excited that he was exactly where he was, doing only this much.

Soft exploratory kisses turned harder, more demanding. Bill was the one to press his tongue in this time, slipping the bead of his tongue stud with a soft chink past Tom's teeth. They shared breath and tongue and ground together as Tom re-learned the contours of his twin's mouth, and Bill traced back in and sounded out his.

When Bill fingered the waistband of his boxers Tom realized that he was unrelentingly hard, his cock straining out his boxers, wedged between a seam and one of Bill's thighs.

"Bill," Tom began urgently, needing to transmit expectations, humiliatingly certain that he wasn't going to last for long.

Bill made a shushing noise and hooked his fingers into Tom's boxers, grasping at the leaking-wet head of Tom's cock and taking his mouth again.

Tom groaned into the kiss, letting his eyes fall shut. His cock pushed into Bill's hand, beyond eager for the attention. He thought he was going to die or come on the spot, and he knew which he preferred. He reached for Bill's cock in turn, running his hand down over silken skin and groaning against Bill's tongue as he palmed the hot, wet tip of him.

Bill kissed him harder, tongue undulating in Tom's mouth in a way that had to be illegal in several countries of Europe, and twisted his wrist, easing foreskin down and clasping the wet, sensitive head of Tom's dick. He thumbed against the underside and thrust his tongue against Tom's.

Without even time for an 'oh, shit' or a thought beyond how good it felt, Tom squeaked into Bill's mouth and humped into his hand, coming in the most amazing gush of sensation. His hips kept moving and he was warm and safe and loved, that was the best part – so loved; he could sense Bill's delight as an agile tongue continued to massage against his and Bill's hand worked over his cock. It was incomparable, better even than their fumbling explorations from years before. He didn't even care that he'd lasted about thirty seconds.

"'s good," Tom slurred at last, when Bill released his mouth and grinned over at him.

Bill was flushed, bright-eyed; tousled as though Tom had already rolled him. A small push of his hips let him know, though, that _he_ was still hard and wanting.

Tom grinned over at him, licked the corner of his own mouth, saliva-slick from Bill's very involved kisses, and he devoted his entire attention to bringing Bill's climax about, as well. The way Bill moaned and arched against him only made him strive harder, shaping his hand around Bill's cock and trying different grips, different angles. At last as Bill panted against him, eyes dark with arousal, lips begging to be kissed, Tom rolled him over and straddled his thighs. He bent and kissed Bill's lips swollen, working both hands furiously over Bill's hard eager cock. He pumped the length with one hand, his left hand, while he got a good grip on the head with his right, playing the foreskin up and down until Bill writhed beneath him.

"Come on," Tom told him, and dipped his tongue into Bill's mouth as though tasting him. A burning prickle itched his gums again and Tom could sense it this time; the readiness for those weird new teeth to descend. He shook his head and pressed another kiss onto Bill's open mouth as he panted and his eyes flashed up at Tom. They were so full of desire and trust, love and something darker, more vital – need – that Tom groaned, jerking Bill's cock faster.

Bill screamed, once, as he arched his hips up against Tom and spilled his climax into Tom's waiting hand. It was a throaty, ecstatic scream, unmistakable for anything but pleasure. His eyes had squeezed shut at the last moment and now he murmured what he thankfully hadn't yelled, "Tom, Tom, Tom," as his orgasm unraveled into Tom's palm and across his wrist.

"That's good," Tom said encouragingly, stroking over Bill's hard flesh until he began to whimper.

"So good," Bill repeated Tom's earlier words, clearly basking in the afterglow. He looked sleepy now, pliant and satisfied. He rolled onto his side as Tom got off him and settled next to him, tugging his boxers back up, reaching for tissues from the nightstand to wipe them both clean. "You're not...you don't get to do that with anyone else. Even if you bite someone else, you're only having sex with me." He snuggled down into his pillow and closed his eyes, clearly ready to drift off into sleep.

Tom snickered. It was so like Bill, Tom thought in a happy kind of stupor, to be more concerned over sharing him with anyone than what had come before this breakthrough to bring them together again. He made a long arm and reached for the light on his side of the bed. "Bill, we need to talk."

"Mmph," Bill protested, pushing his face down into the pillow as the spill of golden light reached out to encircle them both.

"Bill, I bit your _neck_ ," Tom insisted. "You're not even a tiny bit concerned about that?"

Bill sat up, managing to look rumpled and adorable at the same time as flushed and freshly-done. It made Tom's heart squeeze; made him question what the hell he was doing to them – to Bill – in starting this up again when the risks were that much greater.

"Stop that," Bill said, compressing his lips and giving Tom a stern glare. "I want this and you'll do what I want, right? So don't...don't second-guess it. Besides, you...okay, yes, you bit me but it didn't quite...hurt, exactly. And then it felt _good_ , and I felt you. God, I've never felt you that strongly before, Tom; it was amazing, like you were actually _inside_ my head."

Tom nodded dumbly. He'd felt Bill's pleasure coursing through him at that crucial moment, when he'd bit. It had made him harder than he ever remembered getting, even in those first few years when he'd basically been a walking hard-on.

"So...what happened?" Bill asked at last, facing him and raising a brow as though he expected Tom to know, and had only been holding out.

"I have no idea," Tom said, bewildered. He gave Bill a brief summary of the past few days; the fever, the thirst. Violently repelling everything, even water, for those first eighteen hours, then eating everything in sight for the following day. Drinking, and wrestling with an ever-growing thirst. Clubbing, and slamming down drinks that never satisfied; never even gave him the faintest burn of alcohol taking hold.

"Hmm," was all Bill had to say to that, tapping his black-painted fingernails along one forearm. "And it started after you sucked on my finger, right?"

"I didn't...I didn't suck on your finger," Tom protested lamely, and ducked his head when both of Bill's brows rose. "All right, fine, I sucked on your finger. God, you tasted so good."

Bill ducked his head, a pink flush spreading tantalizingly over his cheekbones at that particular statement. "Tomi..." he whined.

"What? You did, Bill; seriously. It didn't even taste like blood to me. It only tasted like something...something so good, I only wanted more."

"And that was it, wasn't it?" Bill said, musing. "Remember what Mom told us when we were little, and again when we were older?"

"You can't kiss it better," Tom recalled. "Don't ever taste your brother's blood."

"She's gotta know something," Bill said, half-spilling himself over Tom's lap as he reached across him for the cell phone at the nightstand.

Tom covered his twin's hand with his own. "Yeah, maybe, but you're not going to call her at four a.m.," he exclaimed, with a little chuckle for Bill's single-mindedness.

"Right, fine, I guess you're right," Bill conceded, seeming disappointed but remaining where he was, draped over Tom's thighs. He reached up with one hand, stroking beside Tom's mouth, thumb bumping against Tom's lip-ring. "Show me."

Tom frowned. "No, Bill, it's weird..."

"Open your mouth," Bill insisted, arching that one brow of his. "I want to see."

Tom made a face, but lowered his head and let Bill peel his upper lip back, poking around inside his mouth. That didn't really give him a good view, considering the angle, so Bill pestered him until Tom ended up flat on his back, twin slung over his stomach. Bill went at his mouth with both hands as though he were on the cusp of performing dental surgery. Really erotic dental surgery, considering they were both still mostly-naked and Tom's cock was taking note of each squirm of Bill's butt atop his diaphragm.

"That's it, huh?" Bill murmured, fascinated as he peered into Tom's open mouth and pressed a finger against his gum, popping a fang out. "Shit, it really is a fang!"

Tom jerked his head away, annoyed. There were enough times in his life that he'd felt like Bill's personal plaything; did he really have to do it now, too?

"Oh, Tomi, it's okay," Bill cooed, misunderstanding – perhaps deliberately. "I still love you even with freaky teeth."

Tom growled and flipped Bill over onto his back, making him squeal and fight the attempted hold. They wrestled for a few moments until Bill went limp beneath him, dark eyes even darker with renewed excitement.

"Let me see your neck," Tom said, frowning as he remembered that moment he'd explored Bill's tongue with his neck, seeking more of what he'd imbibed so deliciously and finding the complete lack of a wound.

Obliging for once, Bill tipped his head to the side, exposing his jugular. The sight made Tom throb unexpectedly; whether it was due to the prominence of the vein or the submissiveness of the act, he couldn't really be sure. In a way it didn't matter. Either way Bill was his, and had already as much said that Tom could do it again. It was an exciting thought.

"It's gone," Tom said, running a reverent thumb over the flawless skin of Bill's neck. "I bit you right here--"

"With those shiny new fangs of yours," Bill added, sounding mesmerized.

"—and there should be two little incisions here, and here." Tom's index finger traced the path where the cuts should be. "But they're gone."

"My finger healed up really fast the other day, after you sucked it," Bill offered.

Tom's brow furled as he recalled that, too. "Yeah," he said, stroking Bill's neck with a light touch. "Wonder why."

Bill shivered beneath him. "Something in your spit? I dunno," he offered. He moved under Tom, pressing a renewed hard-on against his lower stomach. "Are you going to do something about this, or not?"

Tom grinned down at him, the expression born of equal parts relief and mischief, with a healthy side helping of sex. "Oh, I'm gonna _do_ something, all right," he leered.

Bill squeaked, but his attempt at looking frightened only came across as intensely intrigued.


	3. Chapter Three

Georg carried his laptop case past the couch at the front of the tour bus, turned, swiveled, and stared in spite of himself. He'd been friends with the twins for going on four years, and he was pretty sure he'd never get used to all of the weird and sometimes just plain crazy-ass shit they pulled, but this...this had potential blackmail written all over it.

"You okay?" he asked Bill, who was draped over Tom's lap, legs flung sprawling over the length of the couch, butt on one of Tom's thighs, both arms around him as though Tom were his giant teddy bear.

Bill raised his head from Tom's shoulder and gave Georg an insolent look. "Yeah," he said, and that one brow winched up as though Georg was being an idiot.

"Oh, okay," Georg said, rearing back a step. "Yeah, it's just...you're in Tom's lap."

This time it was Tom that spoke up. "So?"

Georg decided that right about now would be a good time to pull a retreat; the twins had done a total rout. "Nothing." He shook his head. Wait, no, it wasn't nothing – he hadn't seen Bill clinging to Tom like this in at least three years; there had to be something wrong. "Not nothing, wait...you guys don't normally do this. You know. _This._ "

"Twin time," Bill replied haughtily, as though that alone should be enough explanation and Georg was really testing the limits of his patience by persisting.

Georg began to back away slowly, keeping his eyes on the twins as though this were an elaborate set-up for some as yet unrevealed practical joke. It was safer for him that way, as experience had taught. Tom's eyes glittered at him in the semi-gloom of the bus interior and Georg backed away faster.

There was no glare inside the tour bus and Georg was pretty sure the human eye couldn't capture redeye effect the way a camera lens could. Anyhow, the eerie glint off Tom's eyes had been silvery-green like a cat.

He reversed course so fast he collided with someone behind him and an unmanly squeal was surprised out of him.

Steady hands caught at his shoulders as Bill whooped and both twins began to cackle like hyenas. Overgrown, malicious, Georg-targeting hyenas.

"Georg? What's wrong?" Gustav's reassuringly calm voice asked him.

Georg flipped the twins off, which only made them laugh harder, and he retreated for the bunks area. He knew he could count on Gustav to protect his back, at least.

"There's something going on with those two," he muttered as he dumped his laptop case on his bunk.

Gustav made an inquiring noise, having followed and drawn the curtain that separated fore from aft in the middle of the tour bus. "You do know that trying to psych you out is like a game to them, right?" he said, bumping Georg's side with a gentle elbow. He reached down to rummage through his own bunk. "You flinch, they win this round."

Georg inhaled, debating whether to mention the flare, real or imagined, in Tom's eyes. He'd seen it three times now - first the other night in the dark of the tour bus, then in the club the night before, and just now. It was making his skin crawl.

"Gus, I don't think Tom would get trick eyes just for a practical joke..." Georg began, and shook his head. _Was_ there such a thing?

Gustav gave a short bark of laughter. "Don't underestimate the lengths to which Tom would go for a prank, Georg."

"No, but..." Haltingly, Georg explained. Anyone else would tell him to buzz off but Georg knew that even if Gustav didn't believe him, he'd listen and weigh the facts.

"All right," Gustav said at last, holding up a hand. "That is unusual."

Georg sagged with relief.

"But I haven't seen anything, myself," Gustav added warningly. "So I'll keep an eye out, okay?"

"Yeah," Georg muttered, wondering if it could be drugs. The twins occasionally had a habit of taking whatever was given them in what was a stunning display of either trust or nihilism; he hadn't decided.

Gustav patted his shoulder reassuringly. "I'm sure it's nothing serious," he offered, bracing. 

"But then why is Bill all draped over Tom like he's some human body pillow?" Georg wondered aloud. He was irrationally jealous. The twins were brothers; they were allowed the close contact he couldn't share with his special someone. Even if he'd let Gustav or himself tell their bandmates, there was the matter of teasing. As in, the twins were unmerciful about it. Georg didn't think Tom would ever stop joking about Georg's supposed undying crush on him, all because he'd accidentally walked in on him in the toilet once. _Once._

Gustav cocked his head and gave Georg a patient look. "He's Bill. He does whatever he wants to."

And hadn't _that_ been a lesson they'd learned fast. He and Gustav, at least. Tom had probably been schooled on it shortly after birth.

"Okay," Georg said dubiously, flicking a glance over his shoulder at the closed curtain. He still thought something was off, but as long as it wasn't messing with the band, maybe it was none of his business.

"Come on, let's go watch a movie in the media room," Gustav suggested, clearly on the 'it's none of our business' train of thought.

"Right," Georg said, and decided he was vetoing any horror flicks. His imagination was already on edge enough as it was.

* * *

Bill eased back the curtain to his brother's bunk quiet as a little mouse.

Tom greeted him with a sleepy smile and budged over, making room on the narrow mattress for Bill to lay beside him, so long as they were both on their sides. It was a far cry from the raised brow or scowl and sullen "what?" that would have greeted Bill in days of yore. It made Bill realize how much Tom had withheld from him - how much they'd both held back from each other - and now everything was right between them, even if the world thought it was wrong.

"Hey," Tom murmured. The word traveled to Bill powered by only the smallest of breaths. He lifted the sheet up and Bill climbed in beside him, boxer-clad and ready for bed.

They laid face to face for a long moment, doing nothing more than smiling at one another. "No one can find out," Bill said forlornly. He'd looked it up years before; not only would common moral outrage and public opinion stand against them - something they'd defied and flouted for years - but it was illegal to boot. He'd probably kill himself before he'd go to prison and hold out better hope for the next life.

Tom took a breath and held it; looked long and searching into Bill's eyes. "But you were waiting for me, weren't you? You wouldn't accept anyone else."

Slowly, Bill answered with the slightest of nods. "I was holding out for someone I could love, if not more than you, then as much," he admitted, and put his arm around Tom when his twin flinched. "Don't. I was pretty sure it wouldn't happen, but...you know, I had to try. Because I was supposed to try."

Tom shook his head. "I couldn't even try," he said. "There's no replacing you. You know they didn't mean anything--"

Bill shut his twin up the simplest way, getting rid of the already-minimal space between them and covering Tom's mouth with his own. "I don't want to hear about girls anymore," he declared quietly, once they'd broken from the sweet entanglement of the kiss. He stuck his tongue out. "Except in interviews; you can talk about them in interviews until you get sick of the sound of your own voice."

Tom smirked at him. "Like that'll ever happen."

"Don't I know it," Bill said, arching a brow.

"Did you call Mom this morning?" Tom said suddenly, interrupting what was becoming a very pleasant under-the-covers and over-the-boxers bump and grind.

Bill cringed, pulling away until at least a millimeter of space separated him from any given part of Tom. "Don't _say_ things like that when we're doing...you know, stuff!"

"Sorry!" Tom hissed back. He lifted a hand up to cover his mouth as though afraid he'd been too loud. His eyes widened. "But, did you? I kind of need to know!"

"Oh, right," Bill said, instantly repentant and reaching out to touch Tom's lips with exploratory fingertips. He'd almost forgotten the fangs but now he remembered the brief slash of pain in his neck, the flood of pleasure that had followed, and the staggering immediacy of his arousal. It had been a swift precursor to the roil of Tom's wants, his _needs_ , the hopeless depth of his desire for Bill that had shaken Bill to the core. And he'd so nearly missed it forever, caught up in his determination to pretend this one thing in his life was normal, when nothing else was or had ever been intended so.

"Bill," Tom prompted, looking amused. His hand stroked over Bill's cheek.

"Yeah," Bill said, re-focusing. "I called this morning. Her cell was out of service area, so I called Gordon - he said she's at some sort of retreat, I dunno. Be back at the end of the week." He figured it was a good thing, so soon after being with Tom like that the night before. He was incandescently happy now and it would be impossible for him to hide that from their mom; she'd have him figured. They could never afford for anyone to know.

Tom let out an explosive breath. "The end of the week?" he groaned, but kept it under his breath. "We need to figure this out _now._ What's happening to me? And what if I hurt you?"

Bill glowed at the 'we;' he was proud of Tom for not taking it all upon himself. "You'd never hurt me, Tomi."

Tom gave him an ironic glance. "And I bet you never thought before last night I'd bite you hard enough to draw blood."

Bill shrugged. "We've hit each other with _frying pans_ ," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but that was different; that was fun," Tom protested.

They both snickered.

"And you're telling me last night wasn't fun?" Bill murmured.

Tom's eyes darkened. Even in the low lighting of his bunk Bill could see the immediate dilation of Tom's eyes and it caused an answering swirl of arousal low in his belly.

"Are you hungry?" Bill wanted to know, equal parts excited and apprehensive.

"What? We just had pizza; why would I be--" Tom broke off as Bill shook his head, leaning close enough to nudge their noses together.

"Not that kind of hungry," Bill murmured, drawing back and tipping his head onto the pillow, dropping his shoulder and exposing his neck.

"Oh," Tom said, avid. He reached up to stroke over one of Bill's neck tendons with a light touch that made them both tremble. "I, well, no. Wow. I wish I was." He licked his lips anyhow.

Bill tried out a demure smile and liked the way it fit, and the dumbstruck look Tom acquired in response. "That's okay. I'm ready when you are, okay?"

Tom nodded, and pulled Bill into his arms, and stroked at his back and hair as though rediscovering the most precious thing in his world. They fell asleep that way.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" Tom asked for what had to be the fifth time as he knelt between his twin's splayed, naked legs. He still couldn't believe what Bill had proposed of him.

Bill puffed out an exasperated breath, blowing wisps of black hair out of his face. "Suck it," he commanded in a very dominant tone, nudging one leg closer to Tom's face. "You know you want to, Tomi. So let yourself."

A groan ripped free of Tom's throat before he could stop it and he dropped his cheek to the silken-smooth skin of Bill's inner thigh. He rubbed his face against pale warm flesh and swallowed hard. He did want it; he wanted it so badly.

It had taken days, but the thirst had come back with a vengeance. He could eat, and it didn't turn his stomach; but it didn't completely satisfy him, either. He was choosier about the foods he ate than he'd ever been - his sense of taste and smell was magnified, everything sharper than it had been before the changes that had taken over his body. And today, particularly, he could drink water and Coke until he was waddling to the bathroom every half hour, but his mouth was still parched-dry with the raging thirst that never left him.

It was Bill who'd come to him, and told him in no uncertain terms what they'd be doing that night after the concert. If Tom thought he'd gone through concerts with unbearable erections before, they all paled in comparison to the one he'd sported tonight. At one point he'd been mortifyingly certain it was going to spring out of his jeans and finish playing guitar _for_ him if he didn't find some way to contain it.

Now he was crouched on the floor of his hotel room and Bill was naked at the foot of his bed, legs to either side of him. Tom shuddered and turned his head, pressing his lips against taut muscle. He was sprung up so hard, still, he could probably do push-ups with it. Most of the crazily intense arousal was the anticipation, he knew. He opened his mouth and traced his tongue along Bill's femoral artery, and he was certain the blood rushing beneath the skin there was calling to him.

Tom paused, raising his eyes to Bill's intently waiting face. "Are you--"

Bill made an impatient noise. "If you ask me whether I'm sure one more time, I swear to you, Tom, I will get a razor from the bathroom and cut it myself, and then you'll have to suck it!"

Tom swallowed hard. God, that shouldn't turn him on. Instead of resisting the pull anymore, he set his lips to the sweetly-thudding pulse in Bill's thigh. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, sensing the second set of incisors sliding out and locking into place. When he bit down, he and Bill moaned at the exact same second.

"Yes, oh, God! Tom," Bill urged him on. His other leg came up to rest over Tom's shoulder and he dug his heel in, hauling Tom closer.

Tom reached up and found Bill's hard-on, stroking him against his palm as he sucked at the blood that spurted up from the two warm little slashes he'd created. Another groan rose up in his throat, rumbling loud as he drank Bill down and licked his lips; plied at the wound with an eager tongue. As before, once he'd cleaned all the traces of blood away with his tongue, the wounds were gone. Tom turned to look up at Bill, enraptured by the taste that transfixed him entirely. Bill cried out and his hips stuttered forward.

"Tom...Tomi!" With a yelp, Bill came on Tom's face. He panted and pushed his hips up and his expression was so gloriously blissful that all Tom could do was sit there on his haunches, riveted in sheer admiration. When Bill was done, collapsing to the bed and rubbing a hand at his thigh where Tom had bitten him, that was when reality set in.

"Bill," Tom whined, moderately grossed out even though the come was still blood-temperature on his skin, no worse than any other bodily fluid Bill had spilled on him before. "You came on my face!"

"Sorry," Bill panted, still prone and not sounding sorry at all, not one iota. "Sorry, Tom...make it up to you?"

"How?" Tom wanted to know, climbing onto the bed beside him. He rubbed his face against the duvet, lifting a fold to clean the fluids off his face, and looked up expectantly.

Bill gave him a slow-unfurling vixen's smile. "Sit back against the headboard, close your eyes, spread your legs a little, and you'll find out," he invited.

"Uh," Tom managed. He was, if possible, harder than before. His cock twitched and he set a hand against it. If he wasn't careful it was going to sally forth and conquer Oberhausen.

"Lie down," Bill ordered, and for a change, Tom found he was inclined to obey the orders coming from his bossy little brother.

He arranged himself as ordered, closing his eyes with only the slightest flutter of apprehension. Bill wasn't a complete brat; he wasn't going to do something to spoil this moment.

The first graze of something soft against the tip of his dick made him cry out and push his hips up.

"Ah, ahh," Bill's voice warned him chidingly. Legs overlapped his and Bill was sitting on his shins, weight slung over Tom's upper thighs as he leaned over him. A tickle of hair brushed over Tom's belly and then something grasped his cock, a firm hand, and something wet and pointed ran over the head of his dick.

"Oh my God," Tom whimpered. Bill was going down on him. Bill's hot mouth was closing over the tip of his cock. They'd messed around, back then, but they'd never done this before. Tom didn't even try to keep his hands from sinking into Bill's hair, and Bill let him do it.

Bill began to bob up and down over Tom's freshly spit-slicked cock, and Tom had to open his eyes and watch. Small tremors gripped him every now and then as he watched Bill take him in, his mouth stretched open, breath from his nose fanning out over Tom's groin, dark eyes flicking up every now and then in the most erotic eye contact Tom had ever been subject to. And all the while the drag of Bill's tongue stud was deployed against the underside of Tom's dick in devastating ways.

Tom moaned, massaging his fingers at Bill's temples as Bill pulled off, kissing and licking at the tip. "Bill," he said, then repeated his name a little louder and very fervently. "Bill! I, I'm gonna..." He pushed his hips up and watched in bemusement as come began flowing out of him, spattering over Bill's lips and into his mouth as he parted it. Bill kept licking and tonguing him until Tom was spent, then he collapsed onto the bed beside him.

"Wow," Tom said, his head empty as a blown eggshell.

"Yeah," Bill said, sounding very satisfied. "Now we're even. Hand me some tissue."

Tom reached out a boneless arm; found himself unable to move. "Get it yourself."

Bill jabbed him in the ribs with a sharp fingernail. "Tom!" he whined. "I just _blew_ you; I think you can get me some damned tissue!"

Tom grinned over at him stupidly, amazed they could do this; amazed they were still brothers and it was fine, it was hot, everything better than before. "Yeah, yeah. That was really good," he said. He snagged tissue from the nightstand and passed it over.

"Probably about the best thirty seconds of your life," Bill said with a wicked smirk. He wiped his face off, then licked at his lips, sinful and slow.

Tom's mouth dropped open. "Bu-but how am I supposed to last after you turn me on that much?" he sputtered. "Besides, Bill, that was better than any--" He was silenced forcefully as Bill covered his mouth with a hand.

Bill's dark eyes were reproachful, wary, making Tom remember his earlier injunction against girls. Tom's furrowed brow relaxed and he disengaged his twin's hand, placing a kiss to the knuckle.

"Better than anything I've ever had before," he concluded, and broke into a smile when Bill rewarded him with a brilliant, beaming grin.

They shifted onto their sides and lay facing one another, smiling in a way that might look foolish to someone else, but Tom didn't care. It was just the two of them, and no one else would ever have this much of Bill. That thought filled Tom to bursting, the love welling up in him tight and aching and overriding anything he'd ever felt for sheer strength. It was more vital to him than the blood he'd craved so badly.

"I wonder--" Tom began, reaching up to tuck a mussed strand of dark hair behind Bill's ear.

The knock at the door startled them both. Bill sat up frantically, looking around as Tom gave his hip a squeeze then rolled off the bed. One hand went up to his mussed dreads, still held back with a tie, but barely. It would be pretty obvious to anyone that looked at either of them that they'd been messing around. To look at the two of them together...

"Hide," Tom ordered his brother, and Bill didn't argue, for which Tom was thankful as he strolled for the door. "Just a minute!"

With a panicked squeak, Bill rolled off the bed with a thump.

"Tom?" Gustav called from the other side of the door.

Bill's head popped up from the far side of the bed. He looked terrified.

"You okay?" Gustav prompted.

"Just stay down," Tom hissed, and waited until Bill was out of sight before he cracked the door open. "Yeah, what?"

Gustav's dark eyes met his through the chink in the door. "Hey, do you--" His nose wrinkled. "What're you doing in there?"

Tom grinned at him, sure now that he looked post-orgasmic. "Jerking off," he said bluntly. Gustav should know better than to ask.

That kind of answer would usually get a rise from Georg, but Gustav didn't even raise a brow. "Okay, well, if you're done with that, Georg and I are playing some Guitar Hero."

"Uh-huh," Tom responded noncommittally.

"And I tried to find Bill, but he doesn't seem to be anywhere around," Gustav added, and gave the impression of peering into what little of the room he could see over Tom's shoulder without even craning his neck.

"Oh," Tom said awkwardly, breaking into a cold sweat. "He's...I'll find him, okay? Then we'll come over."

"Right," Gustav said, and it was the complete lack of expression that made him so uncanny.

"Right, so..." Tom blinked at him and pushed the door shut.

"That Gustav, he's way too perceptive," Bill said in a complaining tone, popping up from behind the bed and sprawling across it.

Tom turned from the door and leaned against it, folding his arms over his chest. "Guh." He had no other word for it; Bill was draped over his bed, the full mostly-naked length of him, nuzzling Tom's pillow and giving him a tantalizing smile. Now that Tom was allowing himself to think it, Bill was a wet dream come to light - and he was here, in Tom's bed. He could have that, he could touch him. Do more than touch him...

"We should have sex," Tom blurted, devoid of any other thought.

Bill arched an incredulous brow at him, wriggling down into the bedclothes. "That's nice; what have we been doing, I wonder?" he remarked.

"You know what I mean," Tom said, dropping onto the bed beside him and stroking his bare back. "Real, full-out sex, you know..." He petted Bill's warm, sleek skin.

"Mm," Bill rumbled, shifting luxuriantly against the duvet. "Mm, Tom, I..."

"I'll make it so good," Tom continued blissfully, excited by the way Bill responded so readily to his touch. His hand drifted down to caress Bill's bottom through his boxers and he cupped one cheek, enough to make a palmful for him.

"Wait, what?" Bill demanded, sitting up and throwing Tom's hand off him in the process. "You think you're gonna what? Penetrate me? Put your dick in _me?_ " He looked suddenly furious and Tom couldn't fathom it, helplessly turned on by the images that Bill's blunt words drew out of thin air.

"Well...yeah?" Tom offered, unable to think of something perhaps a little smarter or more suave. He wet his lips and reached out for Bill, who batted his hands away.

"I already let you sink your fangs into me," Bill pointed out. His look turned sly, contemplative. The expression that always spelled trouble for Tom. "Now you want to put your dick in me, too? No way, Tom. Why don't you let me in you, first, if you want it so bad?"

Tom attempted to explain with all of the diplomacy in his nature that that was not the natural order of things.

"Oh, balls to that," Bill exclaimed, swatting away Tom's attempt to reach out for him again. "You're more of a girl than I am, Tom."

"It's not about being a girl!" Tom cried, stunned that Bill would think that of him. "I think we should; it would be good, and I've done it before, so--"

Bill managed to look withering and wounded at the same time, getting up off the bed, moving away and grasping the knob of the inner connecting door that led to his room. "If you think it's so wonderful, you try fucking yourself and see how you like it," he invited. For a moment he stood on the verge, poised between his own room and Tom's. "Tell the guys I'm not into Guitar Hero tonight. You watch out, Tom. Maybe I won't let you bury the fang, either, if you keep up that kind of talk."

Both connecting doors slammed shut.

Tom sat on his bed, head in hands, and tried to puzzle through what had just happened for clues as to exactly where he'd gone so badly wrong. Bill's reaction seemed out of proportion to what he'd suggested; then again, he'd always gotten mad whenever someone suggested he was anything less than all boy. Tom raised his head; he was determined, now, to figure out a way to show Bill it was completely masculine and that it would be satisfying for both of them.

If Bill ever let him near him again.


	4. Chapter Four

"You're right," Gustav had admitted to Georg. "Something's going on."

Gustav hadn't seen the glint in Tom's eyes that had gotten Georg so disturbed, but he'd noticed other things. The dynamic between the twins had shifted in some subtle way that he wasn't quite able to define, but the immediate visible result was that both Kaulitzes were happier. Tom in particular was smiling a lot more in private, relaxed and less wound up, though he was still fidgety in interviews and put on a cool face for cameras.

There were plenty of suspicions bubbling in Gustav's analytical mind, but he was keeping them to himself. It was a dead cert that Georg would hit the roof if he was made aware of a few particulars.

Gustav was taking the wait and see approach, least intrusive or confrontational, while he tried to decide what he thought about the whole matter. On the one hand, one of the conclusions he'd drawn was unthinkable - career-shattering, not to mention illegal in most European nations.

On the other hand, Bill's smile lately had been nothing short of dazzling and Tom had stopped being so OCD about people touching his things.

Gustav followed Tom from the stage after a decent but not spectacular concert, taking a handful of the towel draped around his neck to wipe at the sweat rolling down his brow. No matter how cool they kept it backstage, it didn't matter under the heat rolling in from the crowd and pouring down from the lights. Bill had already bounced back to the green room ahead of them and Georg was silhouetted in the light that threw a golden rectangle athwart the black of the narrow backstage hallway.

A breath of cool air touched Gustav's neck, and a dark shape blew past him, resolving into a tall figure in a suit. Not anyone Gustav recognized from their security team, but built along those lines, big and fit. The tall man reached forth to grip Tom's arm as the teen guitarist shuffled along.

"Hey!" Gustav called out.

The tall man's head turned, and his eyes flashed molten silver in the darkness. A primal shiver gripped Gustav, instinctive fear locking him in place for a second. And with only that much time, the man had an arm around Tom's throat and he was dragging him up the hallway faster than anyone should be able to move. They were gone around the far corner, hustled past Georg, before Tom could even manage a shout.

Gustav stood in the darkness, blinking and numb and trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. And how the fuck he was going to break this to Bill. _Hey, one of the cat people just kidnapped your brother from the hallway, in the backstage area heavily patrolled by our security._ He shook himself out of his daze and hurried for the green room. He had the awful certainty that time was of the essence.

"Bill," Gustav called out, skidding to a halt in the doorway, slamming into Georg, who caught him by the arm. "We've got problems."

Bill swung his head up, eyes already wide and panicked. "Where's Tom?" were the first words out of his mouth. Somehow, he already knew.

Gustav shook his head. "Someone grabbed him--" he began.

Bill was up and bolting out of the green room like a stone cast from a slingshot. He moved faster than Gustav had ever seen him; not as fast as the uncanny dark-suited man from the hallway, but fast enough that all Gustav could do was reel against Georg as he passed.

"Gustav?" Georg questioned, gripping his arm tighter. "What's going on?"

Gustav drew his towel off his shoulders and went for a slate-grey hoodie, shrugging it on, zipping it up. "Come on, we've got to hurry," he said, counting on Bill's ability to find his twin despite the fact that there were days he couldn't even find his own hairbrush. "Someone grabbed Tom - you were right, okay; I saw the eyes, and we've got to keep up with Bill before something happens to either of them, yeah?"

Georg blinked, but he didn't even hesitate. "Yeah," he agreed.

Together they hurried out of the green room door after Bill.

* * *

There was a hand over Tom's mouth to stop him from screaming, and he was being dragged along narrow backstage twists and turns at breakneak speed. He'd tried to bite his assailant twice, a steel plate in the man's glove stopping him both times. The man was both bigger and taller and no amount of fighting was getting Tom free. He threw elbows and kicked like a mule anyhow.

They slammed through a door and Tom was cast loose, thrown forward onto his knees on hard wood flooring. As he struggled to get up, he noted that he was in some sort of storage room, packed tight with boxes and shelving, cords and big black stage lights and other odds and ends.

"You were right, Gretchen," a low, resonant voice stated, wrapping around Tom and filling up the confines of the cavernous room. "Your Tom Kaulitz does appear to be Bloodkin, newly-wakened, still weak."

"I'm not weak!" Tom protested, wrenching his head up and glaring around.

He was facing off with a blond man in a black suit, a person of average height but a bearing that made him appear taller. He had pale blue eyes and regular, somewhat plain features. He regarded Tom with cool appraisal.

"You're weak for Bloodkin," the blond man stated. "You've recently come into it, haven't you?"

"What, the blood thing?" Tom seized on that. He stumbled back a few steps but the man who'd grabbed him backstage was behind him, forming a solid impassable wall to block his escape. "I, yeah, that happened last week...what am I now, a vampire?"

The blond man's upper lip curled in a delicate sneer. "Vampires; I should say not. Those pale and fanciful shadows of what we are. No, Mr. Kaulitz; vampires are a mere mimicry of what we are - and now, you."

"I don't understand," Tom said honestly, his eyes darting around the storeroom. He was surrounded by a maze of shelving but he'd have to get past the big guy behind him, or the less imposing man in front of him, to get anywhere. He was blocked into the row. Somehow he sensed that wouldn't be easy. The blond was calm, at ease, but there was something lurking in his pale blue eyes that told Tom he was no pushover opponent.

"You're Bloodkin now," the blond man said smoothly. "I am Franz. You've tasted blood for the first time recently, yes?"

"Yes," Tom said, wary to say anything to this man, but there was no point in denying it. The mere remembrance of the tang of Bill's blood spreading its complex bouquet over his tongue made his nostrils flare, his retracted fangs tingle, and he wasn't due for another sip for a few days.

"It kindled the fire in your latent blood," Franz said softly. "It woke your Bloodkin side. It works on the senses first, making everything keener. Sharper. Your sight is better, your hearing magnified, your tastes a thousandfold more complex."

Tom was nodding before he realized.

"The more you taste blood, the more you satisfy that new drive to quench your blood thirst, the more powerful you become," Franz continued. "You'll gain strength, speed. Extended youthfulness, in time."

"What's the downside?" Tom asked skeptically. "No more sunlight, no more food..." Would there be a point at which he lost those things? Until nothing satisfied him but blood, and Bill wasn't safe from him anymore? Sudden terror gripped him again. He couldn't do that to Bill, not to them both.

The blond man barked a laugh, echoed by the man at Tom's back and a silvery laugh from an unseen, feminine throat. "Baseless legends," Franz said. "We eat, drink, and sunbathe much as any other human. The only price paid is the blood requirement that must be satisfied, without which a Bloodkin would drain to a useless husk."

"Oh." Tom relaxed. He wasn't going to put Bill in jeopardy. Unless he made him anemic if Bill persisted in being Tom's only donor... "Will I need more blood, or is just a sip enough?"

The blond man smiled at Tom. It was an oddly proprietary expression. "A sip; interesting choice of word. As you say, the Bloodkin need only a taste every few days to sustain us. The thirst will guide you."

"So...what do you want with me?" Tom ventured to ask at last.

A slight figure stepped around the far corner of the row of shelving, coming into Tom's line of sight. It was a young, slender blond girl with the same pale blue eyes as the older man. "I knew he was Bloodkin, uncle," the girl said, her eyes glowing with fangirl excitement as she looked Tom over.

"Yes, Gretchen, well spotted," Franz agreed. "Now we can win another over to our cause - someone with certain influence and perhaps money some day."

"What are you talking about, win me to your cause?" Tom exclaimed, raising his hands and backing away. There was an identically fervent, unsettling light in the two sets of pale blue eyes that faced him. He didn't get very far; the bulky man behind Tom put a warning hand to his shoulder, letting him know he wouldn't be passing that way any time soon.

"Gretchen, here, is latent Bloodkin, as you were," the blond man proclaimed. "Once you taste her blood, you and she will be bound, and our cause is yours. We're at war, you see, Mr. Kaulitz - those of us Bloodkin fighting for survival, versus those trying to manage our kin into extinction. It's why you were born latent, not full Bloodkin, as was my niece Gretchen."

"I don't want any part of your war," Tom proclaimed, trying to back up again as slim blond Gretchen approached. This time the hand behind him shoved, pushing him forward. With a few staggering steps he collided against Gretchen, who raised an arm as though to hug him and lifted her other hand to sweep long pale hair away from her neck.

"Drink me," she invited, her dark mascara-laden lashes fluttering.

"No thanks," Tom said, pushing her gently aside. "I'm not, er, thirsty."

The blond man frowned and Gretchen's mouth skewed in an unattractive pout.

"But I should smell irresistible to you!" she cried, stamping a foot. "Here, drink me!" She leaned toward him again, shaking her hair over her shoulders.

Gretchen smelled good to his enhanced senses, it was true; but not overpoweringly, utterly perfect. Not the way Bill's scent had penetrated all of Tom's defenses.

"What do you mean, bound?" Tom asked Franz directly.

"Your first taste of Gretchen, the first latent that you 'sip' from, will create a bond, an unbreakable tie," he responded, scowling as Tom backed further from Gretchen. "Once the two of you are bloodbound, she is your mate; she shares your longevity, you share her blood when you need it."

Oh, Tom thought numbly. He hoped Bill wouldn't mind.

"Tom!" a voice shrieked behind him, and Tom whirled. As though summoned, his younger twin had skidded to a stop at the end of the row, dark hair flared out around his head, sweaty face flushed and angry. "What are you doing to my brother?"

"Bill, go back, don't--" Tom began, stretching a hand out to gesture for Bill to leave, for him to run and get Saki; anything but be here with a pair of very intimidating vampires.

Bloodkin. Whatever.

The big man moved fast, covering the distance from the middle of the row to Bill in no time. He seized Bill and dragged him, fists flailing and booted heels lashing out, back to their little group.

"A witness," Franz hissed.

"You can't," Tom said desperately. "He's my brother. A...a latent, you said?"

"He's right, uncle, you can't!" Gretchen agreed unexpectedly. "That's Bill Kaulitz; he's--"

"Your bloodbound," Franz said, his nostrils flaring as though he were scenting the air. "Your own twin. How could you?"

Gretchen stared at them, slack-lipped. "Ewww."

"Let us go!" Bill screamed, kicking out at the impassive bodyguard again.

"You're of no use to us," Franz said, looking back and forth between them. "The two of you will never produce Bloodkin for the cause, bound together as you are. Kill them."

"No, uncle!" Gretchen cried.

The towering row of shelving to one side began to topple, shifting everyone's attention to the imminent peril of being crushed. When the shelving impacted the opposite row, it would probably go like dominoes - very heavy, destructive dominoes.

"Run!" Gustav's voice advised them.

Tom drew on strength and speed of which he'd been previously unaware. He threw himself at the big man, body-checking him into the toppling shelving and loosening his grip on Bill. Bill wrenched himself free and hurtled up the row. Tom followed right after, kicking the man in the face when he reached out to grasp Tom in passing.

They ran together. Tom's hand locked around his brother's wrist and he glanced over his shoulder. Gretchen was struggling with her uncle, scratching at his face with sharp nails and keeping him from pursuit. With a resounding crash, the shelving blocked everything from sight as Tom and Bill broke free of the end of the row.

"You all right?" Georg called, meeting them at the door to the storage area, Gustav by his side. Georg had his phone to his ear and a squad of burly security were lumbering up the narrow confines of the backstage corridor in their direction.

"Fine," Bill said, shifting his arm within Tom's grip but not to pull away. He caught his hand instead.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Tom agreed, with a nervous backward glance.

The dust settled, but no one emerged from the wreckage. They were safe for now.

* * *

"So," Georg said, settling down into the bus's kitchenette area booth beside Gustav, handing him a cold bottled Coke. "You going to tell us what's going on?"

The twins exchanged a significant look. They had been glued to each others' sides since the incident earlier that night - technically yesterday, considering it was now early morning. Georg had never seen Tom unselfconsciously hold Bill's hand before. It was new, a little weird, but understandable given the circumstances, he supposed.

"Not a chance," the twins chorused in unison.

"Hey," Georg said good-naturedly. "We saved your lives, you know."

"And we're grateful," Tom replied, cheeky. "In return we'll save your careers."

Georg shook his head, but he was smiling. Whatever was going on, Tom hadn't lost his cocky attitude. David had joined them on the bus before they had pulled out of the lot long enough to verbally give them security's report - there had been no sign of the three people matching Tom's given description after the storage room had been searched. The twins had accepted this with matching sphinx expressions, meeting nobody's eyes. Tom was now playing it off as an overeager fan who'd had him hauled off for a personal meet and greet.

"You know," Gustav spoke up unexpectedly, "if you tell us, then at least you've got two people who have your backs, who can be trusted to share your secret."

Georg glanced over at his friend. That rather sounded like something Gustav wanted to say to him, personally. It was only Georg keeping them from sharing what they had going - at least with friends and family.

Tom cocked his head ever so slightly, brown eyes fixed on Bill, and Bill returned the gesture with the tiniest shake of his head.

It always fascinated Georg to watch the dynamic interplay between the twins. Though Bill was the more outspoken, they were generally pretty balanced. When it came down to it, though, Bill was boss. Even Tom knew it, if he wouldn't outright admit it; and he did put his foot down in certain respects every now and then.

"Bill," Tom murmured, speaking with the slightest vibration of his lips.

Bill rolled his eyes. "Excuse us for a minute," he said, grabbing Tom's wrist. Tom followed him out of the booth and they disappeared into the back.

"That's a good sign," Georg observed. He was dying of curiosity and hoped they'd at least tell them _something_.

Gustav nodded. "You know," he said. His forearm was warm against Georg's on the table. "In all fairness, if they give us one of their secrets, each of us should disclose one, too."

Georg nodded, recognizing the sense of it. His mouth was suddenly dry. "How about just one?" he offered.

Gustav turned his head to regard Georg, unsmiling. "You sure?" he prompted.

"Positive," Georg replied. He was nervous, moreso than before a concert, probably sweating, but absolutely certain.

Gustav said nothing, but his lips curved in a faint smile.

The twins stormed back up the aisle of the bus, pushing and scuffling with one another, jabbing bony elbows until one of them squeaked. They piled back into the booth and Bill draped himself over Tom's side. They were wearing deviously similar flushed, canary-pillaging expressions.

"All right, here's the deal," Bill declared. He glanced over his shoulder as though someone might have boarded the moving bus to eavesdrop. "Tom's not a vampire, but he likes to, um, suck blood."

Tom dropped his head low and clutched it with both hands. "Bill," he whined.

"Tom's a vampire?" Georg said, startled. Well, there was one explanation.

"I said he's not a vampire!" Bill huffed. "God, are you an idiot or just deaf, Georg?"

"The guy from earlier - Franz - said I was something called Bloodkin," Tom said. "Dunno, but I'm going to call Mom and see what she knows."

"This is recent?" Gustav spoke up.

"Yeah," Tom confirmed. He proceeded to lay out the details of his transformation.

"I knew it," Georg said, vindicated. "I knew something weird was going on!"

"And the blood?" Gustav wanted to know. "Are we going to be asked to...donate?"

"No way," Bill spoke out immediately. "Tom only drinks from me." He glanced sideways at his twin, giving him a look somewhere between possessive and hungry.

Georg didn't really want to think about that. "What about your health, Bill?"

Bill wrinkled his nose, but it was Tom who answered. "Apparently I don't need much."

"So. Um. Well, that's the big secret," Bill said, shifting in his seat and tightening his hand on Tom's.

Georg had a feeling they were still holding back, but some instinct told him now was not the time to pry. He glanced at Gustav, who was expressionless, fingers steepled before him. "Yeah. Well, Gustav and I have a secret we wanted to share, too," he said, plucking up his courage.

Bill leaned forward eagerly. "Give, give!"

Gustav touched his forearm, and Georg smiled over at him. Without discussing it, as though they'd planned it, they reached to grip each other's hands.

Bill's eyes widened. Tom's mouth dropped open.

Before Georg even got his confession out, Bill said at once, "I want a second bus!"

Georg smirked at Gustav, who broke into a rare, unexpected, and utterly sweet smile.

"Take it up with Jost," Georg said. "And yes, by the way. Thanks for noticing, Bill. Gustav and I _are_ together."

* * *

Tom was tired of playing phone tag with his mother, hyped up on post-concert energy that had him half-horny and half plain excited, irked over the fact that his brother hadn't seen fit to go out clubbing that night with them, and overall relieved that alcohol was doing something for him now, so long as he kept that other thirst of his satisfied. It was a lot for a guy to be feeling all at once, and so he was looking forward to going back to the hotel and getting into his room, then into Bill's, and being solely horny.

Splashing back drinks with the guys had lost a good deal of its appeal now that he could look and touch but not take back to his room. Knowing that Georg and Gustav were doing the same thing, fooling around with girls and getting hyped up over each other, got Tom kind of skeeved out. And he hadn't been much in the mood for dancing with girls ever since that one time with the celebrity-chasing bitch and her friend and the photos that were going to haunt him to his grave. Bill hadn't quite forgiven him for that and they hadn't even been together at the time.

So he ducked out early, and ignored Georg and Gustav's complaints that he was being a wet blanket. If he hung out with them much longer, they were going to throw a wet blanket on his libido – he liked them, they were good guys, he was happy they were happy, but picturing them making out was giving him the willies.

Security escorted him to his room. They had been super vigilant since the incident the other night; they were taking it as some kind of personal insult that one of their charges had been spirited off and there was always a guy at his elbow if he was out anywhere besides his room or the toilet. Tom wasn't complaining, because if security knew what those people had really been up to, they'd try to find some way to wrap him in packing foam and take him out only when it was time for concerts.

"Thanks," Tom said at his door, swiping the keycard and opening his hotel room.

"I'd better clear your room," the security escort told him.

A faint, pleasured moan reached Tom's ears. "Uh, really, it's okay," Tom said quickly. Security interrupting his sexy times was the last thing he needed, especially considering his new arrangement. "We're on the top floor and no one but us is booked up here, I really doubt there's someone waiting in my room. If there's any trouble I'll be right back out in the hall, you know?"

The man looked dubious, but didn't dispute it.

Tom breathed a sigh of relief and pulled his cap off as he let the door shut behind him. The click of the door was greeted by a slightly louder moan. Tom began to grin, not quite sure what Bill had in store for him but very certain it would be good. They had been messing around every safe chance they got, usually in the night, and Tom couldn't keep his hands off Bill now that it was something he was allowed. He'd never been so horn-mad, not even when he'd first discovered the true purpose of his dick, and he was pretty sure it was because he was in love as deeply as he wanted to be into Bill's body.

For which Bill had forgiven him, apparently, because they'd made each other come several times since the last time Tom had mentioned full-on sex.

Tom turned the corner from the short hallway leading into his room, came within view of the bed, and stood gaping.

Bill was naked, sprawled out on the bed on his back with one leg folded to his chest, a hand on his cock and the other hand...the other hand...

"Is it Christmas?" Tom said hoarsely, but shook his head a little because that didn't make sense either; he and Bill didn't get each other gifts, after all.

Bill lifted his head a little, eyes glazed. "Oh, Tomi, you're back," he said, or half-moaned. It was hard to distinguish. His forehead was beading with sweat and he looked pleasure-struck. And all the while, he had two fingers buried inside himself, going in and out with maddening regularity. "Maybe I changed my mind about you putting your dick in me, as long as you hit _this_ spot." He moved his fingers and his whole body lurched as he let out a low, wrung-out cry.

Tom climbed onto the bed faster than he'd ever moved in his life. A clothes explosion went off in his wake as he shed himself of everything that would get in the way of his having Bill.

"Tom," Bill said, pushing his hips up and making a wanton sort of moan that Tom had never heard from him before. "Need you."

"Yes, oh God, Bill, I need you so much," Tom told Bill, pushing his boxers down and climbing half on him, half kneeling.

Bill pulled his fingers out and lifted his chin, meeting Tom's mouth as Tom crushed an urgent kiss down on him. Bill was sprawled out for the taking, an open bottle of lube beside him on the bedspread, but all Tom wanted to do for a moment was stroke all of that naked skin, lick and kiss and nip at Bill's mouth and connect to him that way. He gathered Bill into his arms and kissed him until they were both breathless.

"Love you," Bill mumbled, lipping at Tom's piercing.

"What changed your mind?" Tom wanted to know.

Bill turned an arousing shade of red. "Never mind," he said, eyes sliding away. "I want to, okay? Isn't that enough?"

Tom nodded dumbly, hovering over Bill and not quite sure where to start. He pressed his mouth on Bill's again, then kissed and mouthed his way down his jaw, rubbing an insistent thumb and forefinger against one of Bill's tiny flat nipples until it perked for him, and Bill shivered.

"Tom," Bill groaned, pushing up his hips again and bringing their bellies and hard flesh together. The contact shock was sweet, a sizzling bolt to the pleasure centers, and Bill hooked a hand at his nape. "Yes, oh, bite me."

"Not yet," Tom murmured, pressing a nuzzling kiss to the pulse point in Bill's throat. He kissed it again, a promise for later, and moved down Bill's front to pay attention to his small, pointed-firm nipples.

"Tom," Bill breathed, fingernails digging in at the nape of Tom's neck.

Tom didn't bother to respond, nosing over one nipple and fingering the other.

"Tom," Bill said again. "I love you, I'm so fucking hot for you, and I don't need foreplay; I'm not a girl, okay?"

"What are you trying to say?" Tom teased him, sitting up to lick at Bill's throat, nip his chin, sink his tongue in his mouth again.

Bill moaned and rubbed their mouths together, nails scratching down from Tom's nape to rake down the dips and bumps of his spine. He wrapped a leg around Tom and pushed up against him, thrusting up and up until their cocks met and rubbed together. Tom panted against Bill's wet lips and dropped his forehead to his twin's.

"Are you really going to make me say it?" Bill demanded, drawing back to peer at Tom's face. He was flushed, from high cheekbones to the tips of his ears, and all Tom could think of was how his Bill was an adorably blushing virgin asking him to...to...

"Put it in you?" Tom blurted, stupid as well as stupidly horny.

Bill broke out into a huge grin. "Please, yes, okay? I take it back, what I said earlier. I want to do it."

Tom nodded, pressing his mouth to Bill's again as he stroked down Bill's taut, feverishly warm stomach over the tease of the arch of his hip and down to the hottest part of him, touching where he hadn't gone before. He slipped a finger into Bill, the already slick wickedly tight heat of him, as Bill whimpered into his mouth and writhed their tongues together again.

"Tomi, unnh," Bill uttered, moving against him a little faster, as though they were already joined. Tom shuddered at the thought and pressed another finger into him. "That's nice, oh, that's so nice."

They kissed and Tom gave Bill his fingers, moving them slow but insistent until Bill whispered "More, more." They were moving together, rubbing up against each other, and Bill cried out with a sudden, husky vigor, his cock slapping wetly against Tom's belly as Tom itched his fingers so deep inside.

"Tom, Tom," Bill cried, moving against him. "Now, come on; now...you want it, don't you? You want it, too..."

Nodding, his dreadlocks spilling in a soft pile against Bill's neck, Tom mumbled, "Yeah, but I don't want to hurt you..." He'd done it before, with girls, and so he knew that he had to be careful. But Bill wasn't a girl and Tom wanted to make it good; wanted to make Bill want this again.

"You won't, Tomi; do it," Bill told him. "Come on, on me. In me. I've been playing with myself all night, waiting for you..."

That did it. The remaining thread of Tom's control snapped. "Okay," he breathed. He pictured Bill on his back like he'd seen him earlier, touching and playing with himself all night, fingers pushing and striving and finding that spot inside that lit him hotter than fireworks. "Okay, but...tell me if it hurts, all right?"

"You know I will," Bill said, grinning up at him.

Tom had to grin back; it was true. Bill never wasted an opportunity to tell Tom if he was doing it wrong and Tom was sure this would be no exception. "You should probably...on your hands and knees, okay?" he said. He dipped his head to kiss Bill again. "Because it'll be easier, the first time."

"All right," Bill said, wrinkling his nose. "But you'd better hold me tight. And make me come real hard."

Tom shuddered and the only proper response for that was kissing Bill again, nudging his lips apart and going for the ball of Bill's tongue stud, licking around it and twining their tongues together with such sweet abandon that his toes curled. Bill didn't let him do it for long, though; he disengaged, giving Tom a smoking hot look, then flipped over beneath him, dragging his ass against Tom's cock.

"Oh my God..." Tom was open-mouthed, hovering over Bill. He had to squeeze his cock, hard, to avoid coming before he got anywhere near inside of Bill. "This is so...you're, oh God, Bill, you're..."

"I'm the best you ever had," Bill said smugly. "And you haven't even _had_ me yet." Still, there was enough uncertainty in the flash of his eyes that Tom pulled Bill to him, hugging him from behind and kissing his bare shoulder.

"Love you," Tom mumbled against Bill's sweaty skin.

"Love you more," Bill whispered back, and reached down to grip Tom's hand where it crossed his front. "...Now, Tomi?"

Tom groaned, kissed Bill's shoulder again, and nodded. He had to disentangle their hands to reach for the lube, and he spent a moment stroking it over Bill's hole, pressing it into him until Bill whined and shoved back at him and squeezed with his thighs around Tom's legs until Tom had to stop to breathe, again.

"You're going to make me come so fast," Tom bemoaned. He was going to have to learn the meaning of stamina all over again.

"Do it, I'm already almost there," Bill entreated, low and husky again.

Tom covered his cock with lube as efficiently as possible, trying not to touch himself too much, getting it well and truly coated and wiping his hand off on the side of the bedspread before gripping Bill's hip, guiding himself into Bill's cleft.

"I'm gonna..." Tom warned him.

"Yes," Bill whispered, and repeated it as Tom pushed into him for the first time. "Yes, yes...uhh!"

"Okay?" Tom said anxiously.

"Yeah, yes..." Bill tried to hold himself still, but he was quivering, head down. "Yes, but...go slow."

"Going slow," Tom agreed, caressing up and down Bill's sides, his back. He waited until he felt Bill relax. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto Bill's skin and he bent down, dabbling his tongue over the alluring arch of Bill's spine.

"Oh," Bill moaned, and his body opened up to Tom some more.

"Bill," Tom cried out as he slipped inside, his cock fitting into Bill until they were closer, the closest they'd ever been, locked together and moving slow. Tom thrust forward, already in Bill to the deepest point, and Bill tried to smother a low, erotically-charged wail as he was pushed forward, knocking his head against the headboard. "Damn it...no...ugh, Bill." He wrapped both arms around him, pulling Bill upright against his body.

"Ohh my God," Bill uttered as he was draped over Tom's lap. One hand went between his thighs and he stroked himself furiously. "Tom...Tom...it's so much..."

"Is it good?" Tom groaned, trying not to move. He was going to come.

"Uhh...uh-huh," Bill said, nodding his head. "Oh, oh, _Tom_." His voice was pained and ecstatic all at once.

Tom closed his eyes and stroked Bill's hips, fitting his hands over them, clutching Bill to him. Bill made a noise in his throat that was so delicious, so sexy, that all Tom could do in response was thrust into him.

"Yes," Bill said fiercely. "Yes, yes, _again_ , Tomi."

Tom did it again. He moaned and held onto Bill's hips and pushed up into him, making his dick move back and forth in the most amazing slide of sensation, and almost every stroke was met with an enthusiastic 'yessss' from Bill. He nuzzled against Bill's neck, nosing aside soft black strands of hair.

"Are you going to..." Bill began, sounding electrified.

"Yeah," Tom whispered against his twin's neck, lipping at the warm skin there, running his tongue back and forth until he found the right spot. "You ready?"

Bill clenched around him and began to bounce on Tom's dick, moving faster. "Do it," he invited.

Tom was overwhelmed; he could barely remember his name, let alone what he was supposed to do next. Bill was on him, he was in Bill, and they were doing each other so good. His cock was trapped in the tightest, sweetest heat imaginable as Bill undulated around him, and Tom's mouth was dwelling on Bill's pulse point. He didn't even feel a sting as his fangs slid out, ready for the culmination. He bit down onto Bill's delectable neck and moaned as Bill tightened around him, and the first ambrosial gush of blood hit his tongue.

"I'm coming, ohh, I'm coming!" Bill called out, rolling his hips and fumbling a hand back behind him to clasp at Tom's waist. He grabbed at Tom with the other, pressing Tom's fingers to his flexing cock.

Tom sucked harder, tonguing Bill's neck and thumbing at the tip of his spasming dick as Bill came in his arms. The little slashes in Bill's skin were closing up under his tongue and he moaned, sucking the skin there and pushing his swollen cock into Bill more firmly, now that he was sure Bill wouldn't break.

"Yes...yes, come on," Bill encouraged him, tangling his hand around Tom's and tightening his thighs to squeeze down on Tom's thighs.

"I'm coming," Tom groaned, mouthing the back of Bill's neck, then trailing around to the other side, placing small sated kisses there, too. "I'm already coming." 

Coming and tasting Bill were tied up together to weave one single shining strand of pleasure for Tom. He honestly couldn't tell when he stopped licking at Bill's neck and began orgasming. The connection between them was vital, Bill was throbbing all around him, inside _him_ in a weird way as Tom licked at the remnants of his blood, and he was thrusting up as Bill rocked in his lap and sobbed out something sincere and pleasure-wracked and probably more than a little sappy. It was Bill and they were in love and Bill was a romantic, after all.

He pushed up into Bill with quick flicks of his hips. He knew it was happening, now; come was flowing from the tip of his cock with each push and he had an arm around Bill's middle. Their fingers were interlaced and it was perfect. It was amazing. Bill was definitely the best he'd ever had, squeezing him dry and making him wish he still had more to give.

"Oh," Bill said, tipping his head to the side. He lifted his head and they kissed, long and slow and languid.

They stayed like that, kissing, Tom pushing his spent dick into the embrace of Bill's ass, until Bill began to whimper and squirm. Then they disengaged and Tom spooned with Bill on his bed as they let out matching satisfied sighs.

"That was so good," Bill groaned, fumbling for Tom's hand and twining them again. "I can't believe how good that was. Fuck, Tom."

"Maybe some time, if it was that good," Tom said with a chuckle, kissing Bill's ear.

"Ugh, I'm glad tomorrow isn't a concert day; I timed that well," Bill said. He turned himself around and snuggled against Tom's front.

"Yeah, you're a brilliant mastermind," Tom praised, too blown out by his most incredible orgasm to date to be anything but complimentary.

Bill leaned forward and nuzzled his lip, kissing the ring there, then Tom's chin. "So we're bloodbound? You drink me; we live forever?"

Tom grinned, open and happy and utterly post-orgasmic. "Or, you know, until whenever. We don't have everything figured out – that Franz didn't answer all the questions I have, not by a long shot."

Bill gave a decisive nod. "We'll figure it out the way we have everything else, you know." He settled himself against Tom.

"Yeah," Tom said, stroking down his back. Bill didn't even have to say it, by this point. Whatever it took, Tom would make sure neither of them ever had to let go.


End file.
